


Some Observations on Piracy, by a Lady

by GloriaMundi



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: C17, Characters Writing Fanfic, Gift Fic, Historical, Multi, Pirates, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-20
Updated: 2004-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've been meaning to discuss literature with you, Mrs Turner," said Jack. Then, at her blank expression, he reached into his coat and drew out a ragged-looking pamphlet. "Perhaps you've read this," he said genially. "'The Swordsmith and the Pirate: a Romance of the Spanish Main', by a Mariner." He waved the grubby booklet at her, and winked.</p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/44200">'The Swordsmith and the Pirate, a Romance of the Spanish Main'</a>
            </blockquote>





	Some Observations on Piracy, by a Lady

The tapping at the window was faint enough that at first Elizabeth Turner thought it a branch, blown against the glass by the strong, gusting breeze that Cook said boded a hurricane.

But when the tapping came again, it was too regular to be a branch, or a bird, or the new timbers settling. Elizabeth stood in the hallway and looked through the open door of the dining-room. She could see a dark figure, muffled in cloak and hat, silhouetted against the fading sky. Who would come knocking at dusk? Who would bypass the solid front door of the Turner residence to tap on the window of a room that was seldom used? For a moment Elizabeth wished that there was somebody else in the house.

But Cook and her husband had gone home, and Will was toasting an old friend's wedding, down in a tavern near the fort. Elizabeth had faced down undead pirates all alone. She could certainly deal with an unexpected visitor.

She crept forward and seized the brass poker from the fireplace. The room was dark and she kept to the wall, where the mysterious visitor might not notice her. The man outside -- surely a man? -- raised his hand to tap the glass again, and Elizabeth stepped forward suddenly, brandishing her weapon.

He swayed back in theatrical alarm: then clutched at his tricorne as a gust of wind threatened to sweep it away. The heavy cloak swung open and tangled itself around the sword at the man's hip, and he batted it away with a familiar gesture. Elizabeth laughed.

"What manner of welcome's that for an old friend?" Jack Sparrow said indignantly, and not very distinctly, through the glass.

Elizabeth unlatched the window. "Jack!" she said, pleased. "I had no idea -- What are you doing, creeping around like this?"

"I imagine your friend -- I beg your pardon, he's probably not such a good friend any more, but still a fine figure of a -- well," said Jack hastily, holding up a finger as she began to protest, "I reckon the good Commodore is still duty-bound to have me hanged."

"No one would recognise you," said Elizabeth, with a wicked smile. "Everyone's talking about the notorious Captain Rackham these days."

"I'll have you know," said Jack, drawing himself up and fixing her with a haughty stare, "that I am Captain Jack Sparrow, master of the fastest ship in the Caribbean, and wealthy beyond the dreams of -- you know. Greek bloke. Rich."

"Well, Captain Sparrow," said Elizabeth, "I should think you could come round to the front door, then."

She went back through the house, unbolted the heavy door and stood waiting for the pirate as he sauntered towards her across the lawn.

"All alone this evening, Mrs Turner?" he said. "Poor Will slaving over a hot forge?"

"He'll be back soon," said Elizabeth, unwilling to let Jack dash off in search of her husband before she'd had a chance to talk to the pirate herself. "Do come in, Jack. I don't believe we have any rum, but there's rather a good port."

"Any port in a storm," said Jack, scowling up at the darkening sky and then grinning at her. "Actually, it's that little blow that's brought us over to Port Royal this evening. Didn't want to get caught in the middle of it. Charming place you have here."

Elizabeth saw him eyeing the gilded vase that stood at the foot of the stairs. It had been a present from her father, shipped all the way from Paris. "This way, Jack," she said firmly, taking his arm and steering him towards the drawing-room.

Seated in Will's favourite armchair, unswathed and hatless and with a glass of port in his hand, Jack Sparrow looked much tidier than she remembered him. His shirt, tonight, was clean, and the cuffs were trimmed with lace; he wore proper breeches, rather than tattered sailor's trousers, and the boots on his feet still bore the cobbler's shine.

"You're looking well, Jack," she said affectionately. "I'm glad the storm forced you to drop anchor here and pay us a visit. Will will be so pleased to see you."

"Actually, Elizabeth -- may I call you Elizabeth? -- it's you I wanted to speak to," said Jack. He sipped his drink and looked sidelong at her from under his eyelashes.

"Why's that, Captain Sparrow?" said Elizabeth sweetly, narrowing her eyes.

"I've been meaning to discuss literature with you, Mrs Turner," said Jack. Then, at her blank expression, he reached into his coat and drew out a ragged-looking pamphlet. "Perhaps you've read this," he said genially. "'The Swordsmith and the Pirate: a Romance of the Spanish Main', by a Mariner." He waved the grubby booklet at her, and winked.

"Oh," said Elizabeth faintly, examining her skirt. She was probably blushing; how humiliating. "I've never heard of it. Is it ... is it a good read?" she asked, rallying.

"Delightful," said Jack, smiling lewdly. "Does your husband know you write these tales, Mrs Turner?"

"I -- I don't know what --"

"Oh, come now, Elizabeth," said Jack, leaning back in the chair and finishing off his drink. "There are very few people who know what we spoke of on that little island, you remember the one, where we were so happy together. At least, we were happy until you burnt the rum," he added meditatively. "_Very_ few people. In fact, I can think of two. You," he gestured, "and me. And I'm really almost positive that I didn't write this myself."

"Oh," said Elizabeth again. "Where did you get it?"

"Present from my delightful first mate," said Jack breezily. "Actually, she was most reluctant to let me read it. Said it'd give me ideas. So, _does_ Will know? After all," and Jack winked again, "he's in it, isn't he?"

"Of course he does!" said Elizabeth. "Actually, I wrote that one for him."

"Not for me?" wheedled Jack.

"I had no idea you read romances," said Elizabeth tartly. "In fact, I had no idea you could read."

"I take great exception to that, Miss -- oh, I do beg your pardon, it's Mrs Turner now, isn't it? Will's made an honest woman of you. So to speak."

"So what did you want to talk to me about, Jack?" said Elizabeth, smiling at him sweetly. "Infamy and libel? I think you'll find the laws are quite unworkable. If you were to --"

"Not at all!" cried Jack, springing up and pouring more port for them both. "Quite the opposite: I think you've done a fine job of it, love. Considerable feats of imagination, too, when it comes to me own self, unless I've forgotten some really _interesting_ details about our time on the island. Or that time you came to see young Will in the brig."

Elizabeth found herself giggling. "It was cold and damp, Jack, and I was far too worried about both of you to ..." She let the sentence die away. "Will's very helpful on some of the details, though."

Jack's eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward again. "So he _does_ know something of --"

"Hush!" said Elizabeth, head turning towards the door. "He's home!"

Will Turner looked flushed and happy, and not quite steady on his feet. He smiled at Elizabeth, and he positively beamed at Jack Sparrow.

"Jack!" he cried. "It's so good to see you! When did you get here? Have you been waiting long?"

Jack reeled slightly under the hearty embrace that Will gave him, but he gave Elizabeth an exaggerated wink over Will's shoulder.

"Actually, we've been having a delightful conversation," she said, unable to hide the laughter in her voice.

"Really?" said Will insincerely.

"Yes," said Elizabeth, standing and walking closer to the two of them. "Jack's been reading my stories, you see."

"Over and over," confirmed Jack, with another salacious grin.

Will spluttered. "All hers," he managed at last, directing a complicated grimace at Elizabeth. "I had no idea --"

"Oh, don't say that, darling," said Elizabeth. "Just when we've got Jack where you want him."

"Now, let's not --"

"Where _we_ want him," amended Elizabeth, stepping behind Jack. She wound her arms around the startled pirate, trapping him, and rested her head on his shoulder, smiling at her husband.

"Oh," said Will. "Er, yes." He looked at Jack desperately.

"Probably safer to play along, mate," said Jack. Elizabeth could see the glitter of his smile out of the corner of her eye, and he was actually leaning back into her, not even pretending to free himself. "Never know what a woman'll do if she doesn't get her own way."

There was a light in Will's eyes now, and it made Elizabeth shiver with excitement. He leant in and kissed Jack, rather hesitantly, and she was reminded of the way he'd kissed her before the wedding.

Jack returned the kiss eagerly, and Elizabeth let him get his arms free so that he could embrace Will. She pressed up against Jack's back, hands on his waist, almost indecently close to their mouths. Jack smelt of tar and rum, but only faintly: he had obviously bathed in the last few days. She could hear them kissing, their mouths moving wetly against each other, the scrape of Jack's moustache -- neatly trimmed -- against Will's skin, and the little noises that Will was making as he pressed closer to the pirate captain.

It was just as she'd imagined, and more. And she rather thought that Jack might have been imagining it as well: even, perhaps, planning it himself.

Will stepped back from Jack, more flushed than before. The look he gave his wife was both exuberant and apologetic.

"Perhaps we should retire," he said reluctantly. "It hardly seems polite --"

"Oh, don't mind me," Elizabeth said. "It's most instructive. Research, you could say. I may make notes."

"You'll be too occupied for that, love," said Jack, turning suddenly and pulling her close for a kiss.

For all the times she'd written about Jack Sparrow's kisses, she'd never really thought about the reality. It was undeniably pleasurable; more gentle than she'd expected, and quite unlike the way that Will kissed her. Elizabeth kissed back, enthusiastically, even after she heard Will begin to protest.

"'Tis only fair, Will," Jack told him reasonably, breaking the kiss. "How can I kiss you and not kiss her?"

"She's my wife!"

"You're my husband," said Elizabeth darkly. "And Jack wouldn't even be here if I hadn't ... well." She lowered her eyes demurely, and tried to ignore Jack Sparrow's laughter.

"But I didn't think you'd want --" Will began. He caught Jack's eye, and shrugged.

Clever Will, thought Elizabeth. It really wasn't worth sparing the time to remind him of all their conversations on this subject. And he'd enlisted Jack, somehow, on his side. At any rate, the two of them were looking at one another quite ardently, and for a moment she feared they had forgotten her. She began to turn away, to give them whatever privacy they required.

"You're looking tired, love," said Jack immediately. "Why don't you let us help you upstairs?" And, to Will, "Seems to me the two of you have been neglecting one another quite shockingly. Cleared up that eunuch business yet, mate?"

By the time Will had stopped spluttering and explained to Jack just how he was going to demonstrate the contrary, the three of them had negotiated the staircase without ever quite letting go of one another. The bedroom was small, and the bed nearly filled it: Elizabeth sprawled on the quilted counterpane, watching with Will beside her as Jack shed his coat and boots and settled himself on her other side.

"That's better. Now, where were we?"

Jack didn't let her answer before he leaned over her, ignoring her proffered mouth, and kissed Will again. His hand stroked appreciatively down the curve of Elizabeth's breast, and Will's fingers brushed Jack's as he reached for the pirate. Elizabeth pouted briefly, trying not to feel jealous or disregarded -- she was here, after all, between two desirable men, and they'd insisted that she join them -- but it was hard to remain calm when Will was making those noises, and the two of them were pulling at one another and threatening to crush Elizabeth between them.

Then Will's mouth was on hers, hungrily, and she could taste the port that Jack had been drinking, overlaying the beer that Will preferred. She kissed her husband, and arched up like a cat under Jack's increasingly bold caresses.

Will was pulling her up against him, leaning back, and Jack manoeuvred himself between her spine and the headboard, hands unknotting the laces of her bodice. He dropped a tickling kiss on the back of her neck, and another at the top of her spine, and Elizabeth wriggled as Will bent his head to lick her throat.

It was easy, in the last fading light from the west-facing window, to let herself drift into their caresses: easier because she couldn't see Jack's face, and because his hands were as gentle as her maid's. But it felt unfair, as though she were cheating herself.

"Come round here, _pirate_," she demanded breathlessly. "There's no use in skulking out of sight."

She laughed to see Will look up from where he was loosening her bodice, startled. "Not you, darling," she said. "I trust --"

Jack curled round and flopped bonelessly into her lap, smiling up at her as he laid a long finger against her lips. "Hush, darling," he said softly. "Not likely to take anything you don't give me."

Elizabeth wanted to apologise, but that would have meant admitting that she was wrong. She stuck her tongue out at Jack instead, and then startled herself by swiping it across that censorious finger, sucking at it, tasting salt and something bitter on Jack's skin.

Will's eyes, watching her, were hot and dark. He seemed to have forgotten about what he'd been doing.

Jack gasped, and Elizabeth wanted to make him gasp again. She bit lightly at his finger, eyes meeting Will's, and Jack made an almost-plaintive sound and stretched up towards her mouth. Then Will's hand was sliding around his waist -- his other hand peeling Elizabeth's dress down from her breasts as though he were peeling a fruit -- and all three of them were moaning and touching and kissing. Elizabeth lost track of whose hand went where, though she was sure it was Jack Sparrow whose firm, confident touch she felt sliding her skirt over her knee and up her thigh.

Will was kissing her, passionately, and Jack's tongue was licking ever so lightly at the corner of her mouth until she turned her head enough to press him into the kiss. Greatly daring, Elizabeth brought her hand to Jack's waist and stroked down around the curve of his hip. Her fingers trailed across the front of his breeches, and she would have blushed: but Jack's moan was almost frantic, and he pushed up against her hand, up into the kiss, as though he could not live another moment without getting closer to them both.

How strange to be here, in her own bedroom, kissing two men at once, bare to the waist with Will's thumb brushing familiarly over her left nipple and Jack Sparrow's rougher hand cupping her other breast. At least he's taken off that grubby sailmaker's patch, she thought, and giggled into the kiss at the incongruity of it all.

Jack was rubbing against her own hand, and busily attacking the buttons of Will's breeches. Elizabeth pulled back from the two men, ostensibly to wriggle out of her dress but also to watch as Jack touched her husband, her Will, intimately and affectionately and with devastating effect.

Will was taking to it remarkably well, if this was truly his first -- Elizabeth shook her head, dismissing that thought. There was no reason for him to have lied to her, and even if he had, it hardly mattered now. His skin was gloriously flushed, and she thought it was as much the embarrassment as the excitement of being stripped by another man: but he was unfastening Jack's clothes clumsily, returning Jack's kiss, shivering when Jack's hand skimmed his bare skin. Too enticing just to watch, and Jack was reaching for her again. Elizabeth kicked her dress and petticoats to the floor and went willingly.

She had no notion of where to look. The only naked man she had ever seen was Will, and Jack's body was quite different: dark-skinned like a common sailor, and so scarred and marked and decorated that at first she was afraid to touch him, for fear of hurting him, or (more realistically) of her touch not being felt at all. Jack took a firm hold of her hand and brought it to his skin, and she heard him moan into Will's kiss as, emboldened, she stroked down his chest and along his thigh. Touching Will was one thing; touching Jack quite another, although he was flatteringly responsive. Perhaps it had been a while since

No, thinking about Jack Sparrow's sexual exploits would do her no good at all. And see, here was one staged for her own private viewing! Jack certainly wasn't at all shy about touching: his own hands were roving all over territory that she had hitherto regarded as her own, and she was pleased to feel excitement, rather than jealousy, at the sight.

Will kissed her, and groaned as Jack's head moved lower, and she thought: it's happening. What I've written about again and again. Jack's hair tickled her stomach and she wanted to pull away and _look_, but Will was gasping for breath against her mouth, his hand sliding between her legs and finding wetness. His touch made her gasp, too, and wriggle around until she was almost face-to-face with Jack, kissing her husband's stomach while his fingers stroked and rubbed between her spread legs.

Finally Elizabeth found the courage to meet Jack's eyes. What he was doing was not so very appalling, after all: just kissing and licking his way up and down Will's manhood. Will was making noises that she had never heard from him before, and his whole body was shuddering. Suddenly she _was_ jealous: jealous that Jack knew how to provoke this reaction from her husband.

But it didn't seem difficult, and Jack wiggled his eyebrows at her in a complicated semaphore that might have meant anything. She chose to interpret it as an invitation, and twisted until her mouth was next to his on Will's flesh, and her tongue flickered over skin that was already wet from Jack's ministrations.

For a moment, from the sounds that Will was making, she thought that she'd hurt him: his fingers, pushing into her, lost their rhythm. Elizabeth realised that he was already at the point of spending. Usually she'd have drawn back, using her hand to bring him his climax; but then, usually they didn't have an audience. And Jack's drier hand was sliding over Will's between her thighs, slow and careful and delicious, making her moan.

Most of Will's seed went over his belly, and Elizabeth didn't have time to think about the taste, the blood-heat, the texture of it, for Jack had twisted around and was kissing her hard, the way he'd kissed Will; he was far from gentle, or gentlemanly, with her now. His mouth tasted of Will, and rum, and salt. His fingers, slippery from _her_, slid across her hip. Elizabeth kissed him back just as wildly, biting at his lips. For a moment she was angry with him for being here at all, for making it all come true. Then she saw the way that his hand was stroking Will's arm, over and over, as Will's gasps lessened. He might be kissing her passionately, but there was an enviable fondness about the way he was touching her husband.

"Pirate," she said accusingly, leaning back and running her hand down Jack's scarred torso. She let her fingernails (short and neat, but not so short that he wouldn't feel them) drag over his nipple, and his prick leapt. Elizabeth was fascinated.

Jack raised an eyebrow at her, grinning, but she could feel the tension in his whole body. "Fancy a spot of pillaging, love?"

"Captain Sparrow! My husband --"

"Ah yes," said Jack. "Any objections, love?"

"Be my guest. Her guest," said Will faintly. "But I haven't finished ..." His fingers curled languidly against Elizabeth, and she squirmed.

"Oh good," said Jack cheerfully, reaching for Elizabeth again.

The thought of what Will might fancy doing to Jack, once he'd recovered from what she and Jack had done to him, made Elizabeth jealous again. Or perhaps it was anger, or simple lust. Whatever it was, it made her push Jack Sparrow down until he was flat on his back beneath her on the counterpane, looking neither penitent nor nervous, leering up at her with an expression that made her want ... made her _want_.

Leaning down over Jack to kiss him again, with one hand on his chest and one on his hip, Elizabeth let herself be pulled down until she was rubbing against Jack's hard prick, listening to her own harsh breath and wondering which of them, Jack or herself, would take the next step.

Will had rolled onto his side, so close that she could feel his breath on the side of her neck as she tilted her head back to change the angle of the kiss. His fingers caressed the side of her face, and Jack turned his head to press a smile and a kiss against them. And while he was doing that, Will was kissing Elizabeth, running his tongue gently along her lower lip as though tasting himself, and Jack, the way she tasted them.

Elizabeth whimpered. She thought she might melt.

She let Jack roll her over onto her back, or almost onto her back; she was leaning against Will, and he was caressing her breasts and her belly, and Jack's hot, hard-muscled thigh was pushing her legs apart. It was entirely different but she could not explain how, or why, even to herself in the privacy of her thoughts; even to the little part of herself that was standing aside, watching and memorising the languid rhythm of Jack's hips, the curve of his buttocks. She'd hardly dared look at him until now; but now it would be foolish not to look, if she could only keep her eyes open. So easy to close her eyes and concentrate on how Jack made her feel; to feel Will's hands on her, Jack's teeth (surely Jack's) nipping at her earlobes, Jack's sharp hipbones hitting her over and over in the same places.

Outside, the wind was howling around the house. Maybe that was what was carrying her away.

One of Will's hands left Elizabeth's breast, and Jack swore and thrust more deeply. She wondered what Will was doing to him. Then Will began to kiss her again -- she'd know his kiss anywhere, and the taste of his mouth, never mind the rum and everything else -- and Jack's tongue insinuated itself, after a moment, into the kiss; but almost at once he pulled back, breath suddenly much faster.

Elizabeth opened her eyes. Jack hung over her, staring at her, and she could see the whites all around his eyes. Will had stopped kissing her too, and his mouth was travelling across Jack's chest; his hand, the one that wasn't still cupping her breast (his thumb idly circling her nipple, slow enough for her to feel the softening calluses) was somewhere around Jack's thighs, and the thought of what Will might be doing there excited her almost as much as the actuality was exciting Jack. She could hardly breathe, and anyway Jack was using all the air in the room, panting like a hound although he was nearly still now.

Elizabeth slid her hand up over the damp ridge of Jack's spine, over the scars and around the curve of his ribs, and pinched his nipple, almost spitefully hard, as she rocked up against him and tightened around him. That did it; that was enough to take him over the edge, half-howling against her mouth as his climax overtook him and shook Elizabeth's through her.

It was raining outside now, which made her want to laugh. She felt glorious. She leaned up and kissed Will, and then kissed what she could see of Jack, which was mostly his neck; his face was buried against her shoulder. She could feel his rapid heartbeat against her belly, her groin, her wrist.

"Tired, Captain Sparrow?" she said sweetly.

"Wake up, Jack!" said Will cheerfully, leaning over and pretending to shake his friend awake. He was hard again, and his prick pushed against Elizabeth's hip.

"You two," came Jack's mutter, almost inaudible against the din of the storm, "will be the death of me."

"I always believed you had incredible stamina," teased Will, pressing his thumb slowly down the length of Jack's spine and making him moan.

Jack poked Elizabeth's thigh with a bony finger. "Now see what you've done," he grumbled. "Will, lad, you don't want to believe everything you read."

"Well, Jack," said Elizabeth, reaching over to the night-stand for pen and paper, "I'm sorry if I've written you wrong. I suppose I'll have to do more research."

Jack groaned. Will grinned.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> For Mel - Happy Birthday!


End file.
